


Dark Rogue Saga

by roguetimebot



Category: Marvel, X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Drama & Romance, F/M, Post - X-Men: The Last Stand (2006), Slow Build, The Cure
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-07-19 00:02:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7336558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roguetimebot/pseuds/roguetimebot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rogue leaves the X-Men after being cured, an event followed shortly by the attempted break-in of an enigmatic Cajun thief. Rogue gets taken in by an old enemy, while Gambit gets taken in by a broken team determined to find her again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Running Again

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I really pulled out all my creativity with the title, didn't I? This might not actually parallel Dark Phoenix very much at all, except for a moment of . . . well, I guess you're supposed to read it for that information.
> 
> What happened was, I was trying to draw my dream comic book cover, with all my favorite characters and whatnot, which spiraled into me drawing out a hypothetical issue of a comic, which spiraled into this. I've edited some things so I can sort of cram it into the movie-verse.
> 
> No rights to Marvel.

Part of Rogue wishes she'd never found the X-Men in the first place, that she'd never stumbled from her home, eased into a dive bar, and marveled at the burly man with the metal bones; but the logical part of her knows better. It's not the X-Men she wishes had never come into her life.

It's the cure.

Maybe living with the X-men as one of the Cured would've been bearable. If not for the critical looks she'd get from mutants who considered themselves twice as brave she'd turned out to be. If not for the fact that Logan was gone most of the time, not there to support her like he'd been when she'd resolved to leave the mansion. If not for Bobby, but more specifically, if not for Kitty.

Rogue hadn't been in many relationships, obviously, but somehow, she now felt like a seasoned pro in knowing the signs that one was tanking. She liked to think that she'd gotten the cure for herself, and not for some cute mutant boy who's hormonal teenage gaze had wandered. Then again, if she hadn't watched Bobby freeze a fountain over for Kitty and laugh on the surface of it like he hadn't laughed with her in a long time, would she have gone?

She doesn't like to dwell on it.

Instead of dwelling, she ran.

_Again._

She thought back dryly to the time when Logan had come to find her when she fled the mansion first time. He'd offered no judgment, just options, and a shoulder for her to (pathetically) cry on. And on her first venture as a runaway, fleeing Cody's comatose body, it was Logan she'd stumbled across. Part of her half expects to run into Logan again. It wouldn't be hard for him to find her with Cerebro.

Wait, she thinks, of course it would. Professor X is dead. Jean is dead. All the telepath students littering the school weren't nearly powerful enough to use it. There was this new telepath that Storm and Bobby had dragged in a little while ago. Emily? Emma? Something like that. She'd run some other mutant school that had gotten destroyed. Pity, because maybe Rogue could've gone there instead.

Rogue shakes her train of thought straight. Point being, there aren't that many telepaths around, so Cerebro is more or less out of commission. If she leaves, there's no telepath to track her down.

It seems she wouldn't run into Logan this time. The thought either encourages or discourages her. Maybe both. Either way, she keeps walking, and duffel swung over her shoulder and a green hood draped over her head.

Just like old times.

* * *

 

Remy, or Gambit, as he's known when he's on the job, waits beside an oak tree, mostly hidden by the shadows it cast. His shoulder tense, alert to the figure moving across the mansion's lawn. He frowns at stranger, unable to make out any distinct features due to the hood obscuring her face. He gathers that it's a girl, but that's about it.

Remy has memorized the school's schedule by now. There are no outdoor activities at this particular time, nor is this a slot during which the students switch classes or have lunch or break.

Yet, at Tuesday, at 10:17 in the morning, some girl cuts across the well-manicured lawn, threatening to throw a wrench in his nefarious plans. This is either a ne'er-do-well student, or a hooded authority figure on secretive errands.

It becomes clear, a few seconds later, that she's headed for the woods skirting the mansion, right in his direction. He groans. Quietly as possible, he backs himself into thicker cover, preparing to wait the girl out.

Turns out, he doesn't have to wait long. The girl is determined, resolved, with a severity in her stride that suggests she's either markedly sure about her choice of destination or fiercely averse to reconsidering it. She tromps right by Gambit, and he thinks that if he'd been posed dramatically, stripped to his underwear, and painted green, she probably still wouldn't have noticed him there.

Remy waits until the sound of her footfalls leaves earshot, and then continues sliding through the trees towards the so-called School For Gifted Youngsters.

* * *

 

Bobby has not developed any sort of liking toward Emma Frost. She's awfully bossy for someone who isn't even part of the team. She keeps acting like a leader when she's only just gotten here. Scott would've liked her, Bobby ponders.

Which kind of doesn't matter, considering he's dead.

"Could you stop thinking so loudly, dear?" Emma asks, rubbing her temple.

Bobby scowls. He still isn't used to that. Jean and the professor had the decency to not point out what someone was thinking out loud.

"I guess that makes me indecent," Emma taunts. Bobby's frown deepens.

"Emma, please," Storm cuts in. "If you want to stay here, try and show our students some respect."

"Oh, believe me, I don't want to stay here," Emma assures her, leaning against her hands, which are pressed against the infirmary bed. No matter how many times she tells the blue one—Beast, according to Iceman's thoughts—that she's fine, he keeps on checking her vitals. "If you'll notice, however, my own school was destroyed."

"We know," Storm says, "and Professor X would've wanted us to offer you a place here, but he also would've wanted you to respect those who already have one."

"Kindness and respect," Emma mocks. "Look where that got him."

"Look where the lack of it has gotten _you_ ," Bobby says. "All your students are dead."

" _Bobby_!" Storm snaps. So much for leading by example.

Emma's jaw clenches. She tilts her chin up confidently, looking the overconfident boy in the eyes. "You're right, Iceman," Emma concedes. "They are. More victims of the war on mutants our world is so obsessed with. Your school has felt this war almost as much as I have. Your school has been attacked and your leader has been slaughtered. As far as I'm concerned, I _don't_ have a place here, because this place is likely to meet that the same my former school did. It all likelihood, my dear boy, you are going to be a casualty of this war."

Bobby winces. He hopes Emma doesn't notice.

But of course she does. She reads minds, after all.

"You're wrong," Storm tells her firmly. "In the X-Men, we take care of our own."

Emma raises a doubtful eyebrow. "Is that so? You take care of your students?"

"Yes," she holds firm.

"Then, you do know that one of your girls has just vacated the premises?" Emma teases.

Storm pivots toward the infirmary's window, as if she'll just see some student skipping by in her line of vision.

"And you'll also know," Emma presses on, "that a thief has just set foot on campus?"


	2. For Now

"Let me talk to him."

Bobby quirks an eyebrow, certain he's heard her wrong. Regarding the thief parading the campus, Emma Frost hadn't just requested the duty of apprehending and questioning him, had she? Surely Emma, the new and unnecessarily rude woman who'd barged in only slightly invited, isn't suggesting she just march in and start acting like she runs the place. It's unprincipled.

"Perhaps you could call me unprincipled, then," Emma suggests, rolling her eyes. "For Pete's sake, can you not think so loudly?"

"Emma, this is _my_ campus," Storm chides, trying futilely to hide her irritation.

"By a fluke," Emma scoffs. "Led by Charles, originally, but Scott if something were to happen to him, led by you if everything fell apart."

"Don't insult me _, Miss Frost_ ," Storm demands, pursing her lips.

Beast cuts in. "If I may, how did you possibly know the hierarchy of this place's leadership?"

"Not now, darling," Emma holds up a hand to stop him. "Right now there's a thief to collect."

"Emma," Storm begins, her patience wearing thin, "you are not—"

"Apprehend him yourself for all I care," Emma interrupts, "but I ought to be the one to talk to him. I am a mind-reader, after all. None of you can ascertain his true intentions like I can."

Beast thinks this over for a moment. "She's not wrong."

Storm sighs, and it comes out huffier than she intends.

"Or how about this," Emma lifts a finger to point at the other woman. "You talk to him, and I offer my colorful commentary often and without your permission. Although I suppose this counts as asking for permission. That means I can disregard your declination, no?"

"What interest do you have in the well-being of the X-Men?" Bobby asks sharply.

Emma regards him as if barely registering his presence. Either she thinks he's absurd, or his question is. "I'm unprincipled, not cruel. I've spent years running a school, darling. It's a difficult habit to shake."

Bobby opens his mouth to speak again, but Emma speaks before he gets anything out.

"Are we going to wait for the fountain to get stolen or are we going to get the thief?"

* * *

The woods are beginning to thin. Rogue still hasn't figured out where exactly she's headed. She'd hoped that she'd have figured that out by now. She still keeps _looking_ determined, though. She puts on a brave face and scans the area for something to direct her. A sign, she thinks, would be helpful right now.

As she makes her way further, she wonders if signs are shaped like women, because one emerges in her path. A beautiful woman, with raven-black hair.

She watches Rogue, is waiting for her.

Rogue slows, wary. Her feet crunch heavily into the ground as she comes to a halt.

"Don't be afraid," the woman tells her. Her voice is soothing and arid, like a wispy cloud on a hot day. She's altogether non-threatening. So not threatening, that her face seems almost familiar.

But who says "don't be afraid" unless they're hiding something?

"Get out of mah way," Rogue demands haughtily.

"Please," the woman holds up a hand to her, an unassuming gesture of surrender, "at the edge of these woods is the Xavier school, right?"

Rogue relaxes slightly. It makes sense. A jilted mutant seeking refuge. Who else would be in these woods, and what else would they be seeking?

Rogue softens as she confirms, "Yeah, just keep going straight. It's a big place. Hard to miss."

"The safe place for mutants?"

"Yeah."

"Then why are you walking away from it?"

Rogue stiffens. "Ah just . . . Ah don't belong there anymore."

"Why not?"

"Ah just don't," she shrugs.

"Aren't you a mutant?"

"Who wants ta know?" Rogue bites back.

"You took the cure, didn't you, Rogue?"

"So what if Ah did?" she evades defensively.

"And they spurned you from their safe haven, didn't they?" the woman presses.

Rogue's about to snap something back, but something occurs to her.

"How did you know mah name?"

Suddenly, the woman's demeanor changes, like the drop of a dime. Her unintimidating warmth transforms into a smug smirk, the corner of her lip twitching upwards. Her eyes twinkle a different way, her shoulders straightens. It occurs to Rogue why the shape of her face seemed so familiar. She might not be using a mutation now, but years of utilizing it has made her a phenomenal actress.

"I find it hard to believe you don't remember me."

"What do ya want, Mystique?" Rogue retorts darkly.

"I came for you," Mystique says vaguely. "We've been waiting. It was only a matter of time before you fled. Before they _pushed_ you to flee."

"If we're done reviewing mah motivations, can you please move now?" Rogue asks impatiently.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"None of your business," Rogue throws back automatically.

"You don't know, do you?" Mystique observes. "Years of pretending to be people makes it easy for me to read them."

Mystique trudges closer to Rogue, kneels down in front of her. "Rogue, I know how you feel. I was Cured, too."

Rogue tenses up at Mystique's proximity. Much too close for comfort.

"We should make t-shirts," Rogue says stiffly.

"I have a place for you," Mystique reveals. "A place for people like us, rejected by rejects."

"You want me to join a Super-Loser club?" Rogue lifts an eyebrow.

"I want you to find a sanctuary. A sanctuary that offers more than just safety, but a chance to fight back, to show the people who scorned us their own madness."

Rogue relaxes her muscles and straightens her back, giving Mystique the coldest stare she could muster. "You helped capture me. You tried to kill me."

"Under my boss's orders," Mystique says. "We have since parted ways. If the person you cared about the most on this planet wanted you to do something absurd, wouldn't you have done it?"

Rogue clenches her jaw, averts her eyes for a moment. She's referencing the Cure. Referencing Bobby, who _said_ he didn't want her to take it, but maybe it was _her_ he didn't want. Had she been under the delusion that the cure would fix that?

Whether or not that motivated her, it didn't work. Bobby didn't want her. Not many people did.

Except, she supposes, Mystique, right now.

She liked to think she possessed some degree of common sense. Buddying up with villains wasn't exactly on her to-do list.

But…

"I'm not comin' with ya because you're making any sense," Rogue begins. "I'm comin' with ya because I ain't got a bed to sleep in right now."

Mystique smiles, and some of her warmth returns. But Rogue knows it's faked. Doesn't she?

"That will do, for now."

"I'm not joining whatever cause you're trying to disguise as the right thing to do," Rogue warns her. "I'm just looking for some lodging."

Truthfully, Rogue's curious, almost as much as she is wary. What kind of scheme could Mystique operate without Magneto lurking around? Is there a gang of other Cured mutants? Maybe she'd have a place to feel accepted again.

Not that she plans to stay, of course. She's just curious.

"That's all fine, Rogue," Mystique nods. She turns. "Follow me."


	3. Wildcard

Remy would be lying if he said he'd expected to get caught. Honestly, he should have _expected_ telepaths. Massive building full of mutants, someone _probably_ had the ability to sense him here.

He hadn't expected the telepath to apprehend him would be so easy on the eyes.

"Stop ogling, Gambit," the blonde telepath says without looking at him.

"How did y' know my. . .oh." It takes a minute to get used to conversing with telepaths.

His capture had gone something like this:

* * *

There he was minding his own business—other people's business, but tomato, to _mah_ to—when the blonde comes trudging down the lawn looking all cocky and smug, a white-haired woman at her side.

"You are trespassing on school grounds!" the white-haired woman had bellowed to him.

Remy had halted, lifting his hands in surrender. "You mean dese ain't visiting hours?" he feigned fantastic shock. "My mistake, chere. How 'bout I come back another time?"

"How about you come with us _now_ ," the blonde suggested instead in a crisp British accent. "We'd like to get to know our eager visitor."

The white haired woman had clenched her jaw at the word "our." She's either in charge, Remy had deduced, or wishes she was.

Remy eyed the two women for a moment. They'd come to a stop several feet in front of him, and they both had their guards up. He put on the façade of relaxing his own, looking casual as he stuffed his hands into his coats pockets.

Hands still concealed, he'd charged the cards he'd stashed there. He planned the exact ways his muscles would move as he threw the cards at the feet of two women and made his escape.

And this was the moment he'd learned that the blonde was a telepath.

"He's readying an attack," the blonde announced. Without a moment's hesitation, the white-haired woman flung her palm forward, and Remy felt a rush of wind against his chest, throwing him backwards against the grass with a _thud._

Remy could have beaten them. He doesn't just tell himself that as an ego booster. He's _positive_ he could've escaped if he'd tried harder, but these women were probably teachers just out to protect their students from suspicious trespassers. He didn't want to hurt them. He could escape them later, but he didn't need to hurt them now.

" _Ugh_ , you're thoughts are so _cocky_ ," the blonde spat as she had come to stand over him. "Don't take this next part personally, darling."

Before his eyes, the blonde had transformed. Suddenly, the sunlight glinted off of her. Her body morphed into something sparkling, something beautiful, something . . .

Something _hard_ , he learned shortly...

...for with her gleaming fist, she had promptly punched him in the temple. And he blacked out.

* * *

"I hope you're not taking that personally," Emma says as she senses Gambit recounting the past events in his mind. She brought him to Storm's office after Storm assured her they didn't have a dungeon. It was the next most intimidating place she could think of.

Storm stands off to the side. As much as sticks to the assertion that Emma is certainly not the leader here, she knows that with her telepathic powers and generally grating personality, it's best the she do the talking. She could step in as good cop if need be.

"'Course not, chere," Gambit assures her. "Not de first time Gambit's been knocked out cold."

"My name's Emma," she says. "Not 'chere.'"

"Dat's a habit of mine," he replies. "I don't t'ink a' y' nearly dat warmly."

"Mutual," Emma smiles tightly. "Now, with full knowledge that I'll know if you're even slightly stretching the truth, tell me what exactly it is that brings you here."

"Y' punched me in de face."

Emma is decidedly not amused. "Yes. I did. And why were you nearby in the first place?"

Remy scrambles to jumble up his thoughts before Emma can latch onto them. Emma's eyes narrow at the attempt.

" _Please_ , Gambit," she rolls her eyes. "I'm not an amateur."

"Den what Gambit be t'inkin, huh?" Remy poses.

Emma isn't about to admit that Gambit's right, and that she still doesn't now. But she'd grasped onto pieces, and she dangles them in front of him. "You're a thief, are you?"

"Dat's all y' got? Maybe you _is_ an amateur."

"That wasn't all, _hillbilly_ ," Emma retorts. "You are a thief, but you did not come to steal. You are still a thief however, so if you spotted something worth stealing, you would've taken it anyway."

Remy shrugs. "Maybe."

"Your attempt to scramble your thoughts, though," Emma leans closer to him, folding her arms on the desk. "It came a bit too easily."

"Not _all_ a' us are amateurs."

Emma purses her lips, tries to put it forth as a smile. "I don't think you're entirely sure why you're here, Gambit."

Remy frowns at her. The statement bothers him a bit. And he'd been interrogated enough in his day to know that if a statement bothers him a bit, it's because it's either incredibly false or possibly true. He could usually keep a poker face about that, but no need for that around telepaths. Besides, that's not a very incriminating thing to admit. They'd probably let him go if those were his motives.

"Oh, we have no plans to let you go anytime soon," Emma assures him, taking far too much pleasure in disappointing him.

"But if I didn't harbor no ill will, what's de point in keepin' me here?"

"One, to disappoint you," Emma offers.

Storm steps forward for the first time, addressing Gambit. "Secondly, you're a mutant."

Remy raises an eyebrow. "So what if I am?"

"You must have gathered that Emma and I are mutants as well."

"Isn't dis whole place some kind a' mutant clubhouse?" Gambit says. He'd seen the news a few times.

"It's a safe place for mutants."

Emma scoffs loudly. Storm resists the urge to smack her.

"Oh, the thief operates under the same delusion," Emma announces. "I've heard it in his head. He heard this was a mutant haven. It drew him here."

"I thought he didn't know why he came," Storm says.

"He doesn't," Emma confirms. "He was drawn to what he thought was a mutant sanctuary. He didn't know what he'd do here. He was just curious. Maybe if I were to probe deeper into his mind I'd find some pathetic, angst-ridden longing for acceptance and safety. Maybe it'd be right next to the daddy issues."

Remy notes that he's not in any way bound or restrained. He considers making the desk explode.

Nah, it might be the white-haired woman's desk. She seems nice enough.

"Well, then he's welcome here," Storm proclaims.

Gambit imagines that Emma's resultant expression of shock and awe mirrors his own.

"Please, excuse us," Emma says to Remy with a strained cordiality. "There's some things to discuss with my colleague."

" _Colleague?"_

Emma stands and grabs Storm by the wrist, pulling her out of the office and into the hallway.

"You are not honestly considering welcoming a man who was willing to steal from us into the building," Emma snaps.

"There you go with 'us' business again," Storm frowns. "You don't run this school, Emma."

"Well, _someone_ has to!" Emma barks. "You're trying to offer lodging to a thief!"

"It's what the professor would have done," Storm defends.

"For Pete's sake, darling, would you _please_ stop trying to be Professor X 2.0? You _are_ aware of what happened to him, aren't you?"

Storm has just about had it with Emma's utter insensitivity. "The professor had a vision of a world where mutants could live side-by-side with other people. How can that be possible if we won't live together with our own kind?"

"Not even the non-mutants shack up with criminals, luv," Emma argues. "Well, some of them do. But we call those establishments prisons."

"We can keep an eye on him."

"He didn't even _ask_ to get taken in," she points out. "He wants to _leave_."

"And if we let him, he's a mutant thief off in who-knows-where. A _mutant_ thief. What if he's caught doing something stupid? You know how the media is. They'll try to pin whatever bad deeds he's done on the fact that he's a mutant and it tarnishes the public's opinion of the entire group."

"I've been in his thoughts, Storm. He's tarnishing _my_ opinion of the entire group."

"We should keep him here," Storm presses.

"We can't trust him."

"You've given us no reason to trust _you_ , and you're still around," Storm points out.

"Whatever your opinion is of me, it doesn't change _him,_ and _we cannot trust him_."

"If we can't trust him to stay, then we can't trust him to leave."

"Well, then what do propose we do about him?"

"I want to get him to prove himself. To exhibit himself as trustworthy enough to stay or to go. To decide."

"How on earth do you think you think he'd pull that off?"

" _Guys!_ "

Storm turns at the call. Bobby runs toward them, distress apparent on his face.

Did the thief escape her office? Did he do something?

Emma meets Storm's eyes. She's read Bobby's mind, discovered the problem. She shakes her head slightly.

No, that's not the issue.

"The girl who ran off," Bobby begins breathlessly. "It's Rogue."

* * *

 

As it turns out, Mystique doesn't operate her gang of merry rejects from a covert underground spy facility or a massive mansion. No, she opts for something even more cliché.

A warehouse.

It's not even abandoned and dingy, though, which Rogue thinks is poor planning on Mystique's part. How can you organize groups of angry people in secret without any secrecy?

Surprisingly, though, the workers and various warehouse-dwellers barely even glance up as Mystique drifts pasts them, Rogue following in step beside her. The breezy confidence in Mystique's step suggests that she doesn't expect anyone to protest her presence.

"Did ya mind control these guys not to see ya, or somethin'?" Rogue asks.

"You're not with the X-Men anymore, Rogue. Those aren't my powers," Mystique says. "Even if they were, it's not like I could use them. There is no reason for them to fear us, so they don't."

"There wasn't _before_ ," Rogue objects, "until you and Magneto would rip places apart and take people's lives and various other forms of general badness."

"I didn't mean 'us' as in mutants, or former mutants, or what have you," Mystique replies. "I meant us as in you and I. These humans still have sufficient reason to fear us as a whole, so they best not bother us."

"What do you mean by—"

That's when Rogue notices what probably earned Mystique her lodging. In a corner of the warehouse ceiling is a gaping hole, notably under construction with all the beams and things around it, but the warehouse has been around for years. It wouldn't still be under construction. However, at the edges of the hole, there are black, charred burn marks.

"No way…" Rogue trails off.

"What is _she_ doing here?" an achingly familiar voice complains.

In the doorway to an adjacent room of the warehouse, a boy leans against the door, wrinkling his face as he notices Rogue. It's the face of an old friend. Was he friend? Rogue doesn't know for sure.

He flicks the lighter in his hands closed as Rogue and Mystique come to a stop in front of him.

"This is our newest guest, Pyro," Mystique introduces. "I trust you recognize her."

* * *

Gambit stays in his chair as he listens to Emma and Storm fight outside in the hall. It's both his arrogance and his honesty that tell him that he could easily escape at this point. However, Emma might pick up on that, and he wasn't up for being punched in the head with a diamond fist again. Besides, he's admittedly curious about what sort of compromise the two women could come up with.

If they offer him a place to stay, he holds no desire to take it. He's not interested in setting up shop at mutant school.

But for some reason, he waits to see what they'll offer him.

Muffled through the walls, he hears a new voice join in their conversation, and their arguing dies down.

Then, just faintly, he hears Storm declare, " _I have an idea_."

And she thrusts the door open.

"You aren't going to share it?" Emma calls after her as she struts in behind.

"You can read _minds_ ," Storms reminds her, "and I'm fairly certain your politeness didn't keep you from reading mine."

"Yes, but your idea was so absurd that I must've misheard it."

"What? What's happening?" Bobby calls helplessly from outside the office.

Storm moves to sit down across the desk from Gambit, looking pleased to take up the seat .

"I have an offer for you, Gambit," Storm begins, folding her hands on the desk.

"Oh, _dear me_ ," Emma rolls her eyes, assessing that she's in fact _not_ misheard.

Storm continues as though she hadn't spoken. "We have a runaway student on our hands. Her name is Marie, but she's gone by Rogue since she's been here."

"Dat's . . . nice?" Gambit shrugs.

Storm leans forward across the desk. "You are a wildcard, Gambit," Storms says, and he impressively resists snorting, "and we don't need the bad press. We don't know you. We just know you're the thief who snuck onto our campus with foggy intentions. That does not garner our trust."

"I never asked fo' yo' trust, but proceed," Gambit says.

"It's hard to trust you to stay, since you might endanger our students and staff, and it's hard to trust you to leave, since you clearly endanger the reputation of mutants worldwide."

"I'm not nearly dat important," he assures her.

"You've stolen from world leaders," Emma deduces quickly.

Gambit concedes. So maybe he's had some scope.

"I want you to prove that you have the means and responsibility and morality for us to let you leave the mansion without further interference from us."

"You givin' Gambit, homework?" Gambit raises an eyebrow.

"Of sorts," Storm says. "I want you to find Rogue, and I want you to bring her home."

* * *

"What are _you_ doing here?" Rogue snaps back at John.

He flicks his lighter back open, clearly making a point about it.

"I asked you first," John retorts.

"Now, now. Play nice," Mystique soothes.

"Why's he here if he's not cured?" Rogue demands to know. Judging by the hole in the ceiling and the annoying lighter, he still has powers.

"Pyro is easily bought," Mystique says. "Offer him retribution, and he offers his service."

"If retribution were easy, I'd have been happy a long time ago," John says.

"It wasn't retribution you offered him, was it?" Rogue asks. "It was a chance to use his powers as destructively as he could manage. It was violence."

"Violence, retribution, whatever you call it," she replies, "Pyro wants it, and I offer it to him, just as I offer it to you."

"I never asked for it," Rogue points out.

"You've never used your powers unreservedly since you've discovered them, have you?" Mystique asks, sounding effectively like she already knows the answer.

John answers anyway. "She hasn't!" he chimes in. Rogue shoots him a glare.

"We offer you that chance as well, Rogue. You don't have to take it, but we offer it to you."

* * *

"That's our offer, Gambit," Storm proclaims. "Take it and find Rogue, or leave it let us try to rehabilitate you from the lifestyle you seem to suffer through."

Gambit winces at the word "suffer." He doesn't need this lady feeling sorry for him and what he decides to do. And the concept of "rehabiliting" him is utterly laughable.

But the sad Bobby kid hanging outside the door…

That kid doesn't care about him. He just wants to find this Rogue girl. If she's just some student, she's probably unaware of how to handle herself outside the walls of some cushy mutant clubhouse mansion. And the way Storm abruptly quit arguing with Emma at the mention of Rogue's disappearance tells him that she wants to find this girl too.

And in a world so averse to mutants, and a world so unkind to unattended young girls…

If he can steal from world leaders, he can steal some mutant girl off the streets. Some naïve runaway shouldn't be too hard to track down.

"Lemme see a picture a' dis Rogue girl."

* * *

 


	4. Contained

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rogue and Gambit each run into a striking figure from their pasts.

As it turns out, Remy has seen Rogue before. She'd been hooded figure stalking by when he'd been lurking in the woods skirting the school. He already has a place to start, and considering that how short a time ago he'd spotted her, he predicts he'll find her within the next couple days, if not in the next few hours.

Emma, Storm, and Bobby escort him back to the entryway, considering he'd been unconscious when he'd been brought in and that none of them actually trust him at all. He doesn't take it personally. As they guide him down the halls, he gets a better look at the school.

It's fancy, to say the least. This Thieves' Guild had nothing on the digs these peace-warrior mutants have. It's almost picturesque, the little kiddies running around, laughing and playing despite their missing limbs or complexions that looked like some kind of casserole dish.

Storm, Emma, and Bobby lead him through a hall of classrooms just as a class dismisses. A bunch of teenagers file into the hall, ramming into Emma and Bobby, but reverently avoiding Storm. Emma's expression suggests she's about to go diamond on all of them if they don't learn some manners.

As the group of students files into their respective classrooms, Remy notices a familiar face among them.

"Laura?" Gambit raises an eyebrow.

A student, younger than Bobby, is just entering a classroom when she hears him. She has long black hair and wears in all-black outfit just like Remy remembers she would tend to do, considering she would sometimes be to epitome of an angsty teen phase. She turns, her eyes widening in surprise.

"Remy?" she registers in disbelief.

Storm raises an eyebrow, stopping in the middle of the hallway. "You two know each other?"

"You kiddin'?" Remy smiles down at her, the first bit of warmth he's shown in this place besides agreeing to help find Rogue. "Me an' dis girl have been through de ringer."

"X-23, right?" Emma points down at dark-haired girl. "How does the clone of Wolverine know the hick thief trying to break in to the school?"

Laura sighs, vaguely disappointed, though not entirely surprised. " _Remy_."

He puts his hands up in a surrender motion. "Old habits," he says.

"Where are you taking him?" Laura asks Storm.

"We're sending him to find someone," Storm tells her. She makes a point of being honest with her students, something the Professor, great man and all, hadn't always opted for.

"It's a ridiculous test of trust or nobility or something that Storm here concocted," Emma contributes. "It's rather absurd."

"I'm sorry, who are you?" Laura frowns at the blonde woman.

"Frustrated, mostly."

"That's enough, Emma," Storm cuts her off.

"I'm bein' sent on a mission," Gambit explains to Laura. "One of de students went off de grid. Rogue. You know her?"

"I have heard of her," Laura confirms, "but I've never spoken to her directly. She did not associate much."

"Well, if you've seen her, petite, maybe you can help Remy find her," Remy suggests.

"What? No!" Storm protests. "I'm not endangering one of our own! You are a stranger, Remy!"

"I know Remy," Laura protests gently. "He is not dangerous. . . Well, he would not hurt me, that is."

"The world can be, though," Storm reminds her.

"I have faced the world before," Laura says, determinedly. "It could hardly contain me."

"Poetic," Emma groans.

"It's settled, den," Remy claps his hands together. "Petite comes with me."

"What about her schooling?" Storm asks.

"Yeah, because people come here for the quality of education," Bobby snickers.

"You're not helping, Iceman," Storm deadpans.

* * *

Tension fills the space between Mystique, Rogue, and Pyro. Mystique tries waiting for it to dissipate, but gives up shortly when it seems like a lost cause. She need not concern herself with whatever petty teen drama the two of them harbor.

Mystique tasks John with showing Rogue to where she'll stay. To Rogue's surprise, he only protests a bit and only threatens to burn up a couple pieces of property before reluctantly agreeing. He makes his way to spacious, high-ceilinged room of boxes, not checking to make sure Rogue follows him.

He doesn't waste time with pleasantries, or any sort of nicety, or even a tense silence for old time's sake. He jumps straight to the judgment and contention.

"I knew you'd take the Cure," John grumbles. "You were always weak."

Rogue expected something snide out of John. She'd been prepared to roll her eyes and scoff at whatever he came at her with. But the comment enrages her, and she pulls on his arm to stop him. He flinches at the touch of her once-lethal bare hand.

" _Ah_ was weak?!" she snaps shrilly. "At the first sign of trouble, ya ran for hills!"

"I ran because I didn't belong there!" John yells back, defensive in the way those with bravado are when attacked. "The place is so delusional, no one does, except maybe boy-scout-Bobby and your corpse of a Professor! And _you_ , of course, with that power you were too scared to even _try_ to use."

"Not wantin' to hurt people doesn't make me _weak_ , John!" Rogue yells. "Wantin' to makes _you_ a _psychopath_!"

"I don't want to hurt people, Rogue. I want freedom! Freedom from the restraints of the humans, from the containment of my powers," he leans in close to her, like this is a speech he's been waiting to holler into someone's face. He doesn't seem displeased that it's _her_ face. "If anyone gets in the way of that, then they get hurt. It's not my fault they don't know their place like I do, and it wasn't with the X-Men."

"Freedom?!" Rogue scoffs, refusing to back away as John shrinks the distance between them. He's never scared her. She doubts he ever will. "You're so far from free. You latched onto Magneto, and now yah're latched onto Mystique. Yah're a _lackey_ , John. A glorified lackey, except not glorified _at all_."

"Don't lecture me on freedom, Rogue," John says between his teeth. "You are the most contained person I've ever met."

"What's that supposed tah mean?" Rogue isn't sure, but she knows she's offended.

"You holed yourself up at that mansion, did whatever your precious X-freaks ordered of you, followed all their rules, got with the first guy who would tolerate you, but barely made eye contact with him, never used you powers like they were meant to be used, and let the Cure into your system to contain yourself even further. You are an absolute _master_ self-suppression."

"The Cure wasn't tah _suppress_ myself, idiot!" Rogue bellows. "That was for my _freedom_. That thing ya keep thinking yah're trying to reach for, but never really feel like ya have. I freed mahself by taking that Cure!"

John, for the first time, smiles at her. It's more of smirk, and in no way does it comfort her. He shows to first signs of backing down, but it's not out of defeat. He's not giving up.

He's delivering the final blow.

"Tell me something, Rogue," he says. "Do you feel free yet?"


	5. Mutant Teenage Girls

Storm still protests Laura's leaving when they approach the double-door exits of the mansion. She insists training not be interrupted.

"But, Storm," Laura says, "I was raised in a facility to be an ideal weapon. Currently, I can calculate seven different ways to incapacitate you, and fourteen different ways to kill you. I can perform two-thirds of these maneuvers in under six seconds, and the rest in under fifteen if you were to refuse to retaliate."

It's decided that Laura doesn't really need the training.

Since no one harbors terribly warm feelings for Gambit, goodbyes and well-wishes for him are kept rather brief. Storm insists Laura be safe and gives Remy equal parts warning and warmth. Remy doubts Emma's capability for warmth, so he doesn't take it personally when her goodbye is "Don't get anyone killed. Unless it's yourself." Bobby just stands off, aloof. Remy gives him a curt nod.

"Don' worry, mon ami," he says. "We should have y' girl back in no time."

"Have I mentioned," Emma pipes up in exaggerated cheerfulness, and Remy can practically feel her rummaging through his thoughts, "that Gambit here is a notorious ladies man with a despicable habit of charm and seduction."

Bobby pales. For his benefit, Remy tries not to laugh.

"Y' callin' me charmin' and seductive, chere?" he quirks an eyebrow at Emma.

"I'm quoting your thoughts, luv. And your arrogance is giving me a migraine."

Bobby doesn't seem comforted for some reason.

"See you folks later on, hopefully," Remy waves, starting to trudge off for the woods the direction he'd seen Rogue leave. Laura falls into step beside him and, never one for saying much, offers no goodbyes to the group.

Gambit knows well that Laura benefits a search-and-rescue mission. What's to be expected from a girl raised by people attempting to create the perfect weapon? Her feet tread quietly when he wants quiet, she's quick when Remy suggests they pick up the pace, and he knows the two adamantium blades tucked into her arms may come in handy if Rogue had happened upon the wrong sort of people.

However, they're not to that exciting part yet. As of now, they still track footprints to the woods. This is something else Laura is exceedingly useful for. Childhood assassin training and all, she could pick up on things very well. Was she as observant as Remy, raised to be a superb thief?

Depends who was being asked.

"Do you think she turned around here?" Laura inquired, pointing out a place where the light tracks turned to face the other direction.

"Dem ain' boot prints no more," Remy notes, squatting down across from her to look more closely. "Someone joined her. Woman, by de looks of it."

"It does not appear this new woman took Rogue by force," Laura observes. "There are no signs of struggle."

"Yeah, de path continues right next t' de new girl's tracks," Remy traces the path with his finger. "Seems dey came t' some sort a' agreement."

"What kind of agreement?" Laura inquires.

"Don' know," Remy shrugs before popping back up to his feet. "Don' know much about de femm 'sept what she looks like. _You_ know somethin'?"

"She favors her right side over her left, and in standard hand-to-hand combat,she—"

Remy holds up a hand. "Awright, petite, Gambit don' need dat info. Don' wanna _kill_ the girl."

"I was instructing you on how to _subdue_ her," Laura amends.

"I was hoping y' knew somethin' more personality-based."

"I already told you, I do not know her very well," Laura explains. "I never spoke to her. She was older than me, supposed to graduate soon. Some say, if she had not taken the Cure, she would have been promoted to X-Men after she graduated."

"Is dat so?" Remy considers as he starts walking the direction of the new trail. "What was her power?"

"There were rumors," she replies, "that she could absorb people's life force with tactile contact."

"Skin-to-skin contact, you mean? Killing folks wit' dat? Dat's a bit farfetched, non?"

Laura shrugs, stepping over a twig. "It's just what I have heard."

"You sho' hear y'self a lot of gossip for someone who don't talk much."

"I hear. I do not partake."

"Not gossipin'. Good habit to keep up."

"If everyone kept it, maybe you'd have a nobler reputation."

Remy shrugs. "Ain' like I don' deserve worse than the one I got."

* * *

The sleeping quarters for Mystique's group of Cured runaways is rather simple. In a back corner of the room of boxes are rows of standard beds that remind Rogue of cots, like something a dingy boarding school would use. Not _her_ old boarding school, of course. That one had been rather ritzy. Many of the beds are separated by squared off stacks of boxes for privacy.

"Pick an empty one," John says gruffly, gesturing toward the rows.

Rogue obeys, throwing her stuff down next to one of the cots. Grateful for a chance to rest, she flops down onto the mattress. It feels about as uncomfortable as it looks, but it doesn't bother her much. She still remembers the night she slept in back of Logan's trailer, hidden beneath a blanket, before his inconveniently keen mutant senses found her out.

The mattress beats the trailer. However, she prefers the former company.

Rogue notices John (who demanded she call him "Pyro" during their brief stroll) flop down onto the mattress to her left, without looking at her. Her immediate instinct is to groan inwardly at the location. She doesn't particularly like Pyro. He'd turned his back on the X-Men, after all.

Then again, Pyro's is the only familiar face here. She's met Mystique before, but her face had been different. Pyro had once been an ally. A frustrating, unnecessarily violenty, arrogant ally, but still some semblance of a friend. There's a bit of security in that, even if he switched teams.

Also, didn't she turn her back on the X-Men, too?

* * *

Gambit and X-23 reach concrete eventually, where footprints become more obsolete. They follow the dirt they can track for as long as they're able, and eventually they start looking for other clues.

"Awright, this shouldn't be too hard," Remy hopes as they edge their way out of a passing group on a city block. "How far can a teenage runaway get in a few hours?"

"Aren't _I_ a teenage runaway?"

"You don' count," Remy says. "I doubt dis Rogue girl's got metal claws and assassin training."

"Well, where do we start looking?"

"Don' worry, petite," Remy soothes in mock patronization. He flips the collar of his trench coat up and pulls a pair of sunglasses out of his pocket. He slides them on, effectively covering up his bright red irises. He saunters toward a nearby restaurant, pulls the glass door open and lets Laura duck inside under his arm.

"Stand off a bit, will you?" Gambit whispers to her, motioning with his head toward the hostess desk. "Don' want her t'inkin I got a naggin' teenage daughter to haul around."

Laura rolls her eyes as his motives become clear. He's endeavoring to flirt his way to information about Rogue.

"Are you serious?" Laura deadpans.

"Babies attract women," Remy explains. "Mutant teenage girls, not so much."

Laura throws in an extra eye roll before she obediently edges away from him. Remy straightens his coat before approaching the hostess desk and leaning against it. She watches from where she stands, and she can practically feel the reverberations of Remy's charm. Remy has told her that he possesses some empathy powers, but he doesn't use them much. This could just be a smug, Remy-like thing he says, but she doubts it. He's just a charming guy.

The woman at the hostess desk practically keels over with all her swooning. Laura guesses it's about a minute and twenty-three seconds before Remy peels himself away from her with a phone number scribbled onto his hand. She follows him out the door.

"There are other ways to gather information, Remy," Laura says as she holds the door open for the family entering.

"'Course," Remy agrees, readjusting his coat collar. "Dis be de quickest way. And the nicest."

"I think it is considered disgusting and manipulative in many circles."

"As am I," Remy says as he licks his fingers and scrubs the number off the back of his hand. "The woman told me she saw a girl wit' a white streak in her hair pass dis way about an hour ago wit' a dark-haired woman dat hangs around dese parts a lot. So, I asked about de woman, and she said dis femme be hangin' 'round wit' a bunch of people two blocks down in some furniture warehouse a lot."

"So Rogue is in the warehouse?"

"It's de best lead we got so far."

* * *

Rogue doesn't rest for long. Just as she's drifting into a nice afternoon nap, Mystique starts yelling about something.

"Gather round!" Mystique calls out, snapping her fingers in the air.

Pyro groans loudly beside her, but drags himself to a sitting position anyway. He locks eyes with Rogue, still motionless on the bed.

"You, too, X-Man," he jeers.

Rogue, offended at being bossed around, but curious nonetheless, gets to her feet. She drags her feet toward Mystique, where a crowd is gathering around her. She keeps at the edge of the circle, but still manages to get sucked up by the gathering crowd. A shoulder rams into her own.

"Ow! Sorry!" the culprit exclaims. "I didn't mean to—Rogue?"

Rogue glances in surprise to her right. At first the person doesn't seem familiar.

Then, she realizes, Mystique isn't the only one having trouble staying blue.

" _Nightcrawler_?"


	6. Reckoning

Between the two of them, Remy and Laura don't have much trouble finding the warehouse. They don't involve much furtiveness or stealth. They walk the street, and the warehouse emerges before them. They stop just to side of the parking lot, examining the perimeter.

"Did de girl just shack up in a warehouse?" Remy ponders. "How'd she convince a bunch of warehouse workers t' let her in there?

"Maybe she did something disgusting and manipulative."

Remy pouts. He doesn't know whether to laugh or grimace. "Y' tell jokes now, petite?"

"Maybe. There's a joke going around the school I could share."

"Lemme hear it," he prompts.

"Why did Professor X cross the road?"

"Why?"

"He didn't, because he is dead."

Remy raises an eyebrow at her. "Ain' dat y' dead headmaster?"

"Yes."

"Dat's morbid, petite."

"That's what I thought. But Boom-Boom said it was funny."

"Let's not make a habit a trusting the sense of humor of people called 'Boom-Boom'," Remy suggests. "You're insensitive enough as it is."

"I am _not_ insensitive."

"Are we gon' argue all day long, or are we gon' get dis girl back by nightfall?"

Laura shakes her hid, though she still smiles. "Fine. Where do we start?"

"You take too many orders. Where do _you_ t'ink we should start?"

* * *

Rogue doesn't have much time to dwell on the presence of Kurt Wagner. Jean and Storm and plucked him out of the world and gave him a spot on the team. He'd taken what was supposed to be a temporary hiatus to work on some personal stuff, much like Logan did every ten minutes or so. He'd been suspiciously absent during the Cure chaos and the battle with Magneto, but no one pried.

Apparently, he'd been out getting the Cure for himself.

"Kurt, what are ya doin' here?" Rogue whisper-shouts as Mystique starts prattling on about something she probably thinks is important.

"I could ask you ze same question," he asks with his thick German accent.

"Ah'm here for a place to sleep. Why aren't ya blue?"

"I left the mansion a while back to sort out some family business," he explains, recognizing the white-streaked mutant girl at once. She's the one who he'd helped prevent from falling to her death when she was sucked out of the Blackbird, the one Bobby claimed to love, the one who couldn't touch.

"The Cure wadn't a thing when ya left," she recalls, "so that wadn't a cover-up so you could go get it."

"No, it vasn't," he agrees. "Funny how family business turns out."

Someone in front of them shushes the pair, trying to hear Mystique. Rogue pouts at the back of their head, but quiets nonetheless.

"I'd also," Mystique continues, "like to take a moment to welcome our newest recruits. I'm sure you will find your place here."

Mystique's eyes slide over Rogue's for a fraction of a second. She sucks in her cheeks resistively.

"Our numbers are growing," Mystique continues. "Some say there is power in numbers, and they certainly help, but there is greater power within each of us. There is hurt, and rage, and pain, and we can take that and spit back out at the world that rejected us."

"Revenge cult," Rogue murmurs under her breath. Kurt elbows her in the rib, but it's playful, lighthearted, like he agrees with her, but doesn't want to get in trouble. He doesn't trust Mystique either.

So why is he here?

"A reckoning approaches," Mystique goes on dramatically, "and when it comes, mutants, humans, anyone who opposes of us, will know the consequences of their actions. There is no room for weakness. We fight, perhaps we die, but at the end, our survivors will be shown _respect_."

Rogue watches Nightcrawler, watches how his jaw clenches, repressing his thoughts. She can guess what he's thinking.

_That maybe the survivors won't deserve it._

* * *

"Y' spot her yet?" Remy calls of to Laura, who is balanced precariously on his shoulders. Her position gives her a direct view into an extremely dirty and rather small window. She peers through the dirt, trying to view the inhabitants of the building. Her balance is steady, but Remy keeps wobbling around. "You're heavier den y' look, petite!"

"Doesn't that defeat the purpose of the 'petite' thing?" Laura responds.

"Just look for Rogue!"

"They are gathering for something," Laura observes. "A woman is speaking to all of them. She has dark hair. It is probably the woman the hostess spotted her with. Wait . . ."

"What? What is it?"

"I see her," she announces. "There is a girl with a white streak in her hair inside, standing around the dark-haired woman."

"We found Rogue?"

"We found Rogue," Laura confirms.

Remy sags his shoulders with relief, which would make a normal person standing upon said shoulder lose balance, and perhaps fall to the ground. When X-23 is faced with this predicament, she clutches the windowsill and an adamantium blade bursts from the front of each of her boots, sticking into the wall, helping her keep balance.

Remy, whose neck is between the blades, calls up to Laura with playful scorn, "Y' trying to kill me, girl!"

"I told you not to drop me!"

* * *

 

It takes less than seven minutes for Remy and Laura to find a way to sneak into the warehouse. Between being raised by thieves on one hand and insidious assassin training on the other, it's almost too easy.

When they find their way into the strange lair, they merge their way into the crowd gathered around the dark-haired woman. They don't try too hard to obscure themselves. None of the people there would recognize either of them. Remy just hopes there isn't a roll call on the schedule.

Remy edges his way through the small crowd to the Rogue girl. Laura lags behind, scanning the audience, making sure none of them grew suspicious.

Remy comes up behind Rogue, spotting the white streak in her hair. He reaches slowly toward her and catches her by the crook of her elbow. She starts in surprise, glancing over her shoulder. Remy puts a finger to his lip. She looks doubtful, but stays silent.

"You alright?" the man beside her asks with a thick German accent. He glances down warily at the stranger's hold on Rogue's arm.

"Nothin' to worry about, mon ami," Remy pats his shoulder amicably. "Just glad to see dis girl here."

"Do ah know you?" Rogue raises an eyebrow.

Someone in the crowd shushes the group, saving Remy the trouble of explaining concisely. He waits for the dark-haired woman to stop lecturing. _Blah, blah, reckoning, blah, blah mutant war, blah, blah, we are the future_. When she's run out of slogans and dramatics, she dismisses the herd.

Rogue splits off and heads toward her bed. Remy falls into step behind her. He doesn't have to look, but he assumes Laura has found a spot to observe from a safe distance.

Rogue sits down on one of the beds, her green duffel bag still unpacked by her feet. When she looks up, she's startled to find Remy there with her.

"Who are you exactly?" she asks apprehensively.

"Call me Gambit," Remy says, standing at the foot of her bed. "I hear you's a runaway."

"Wow. That was fast."

"So y' know who be sendin' me, den?"

"Don't worry yaself over it," Rogue says. "They probably only sent ya out of obligation tah look for me. Go back and tell 'em ya couldn't find me."

Remy sighs. Infiltration was the easy part.

He moves to sit beside Rogue on the bed. "Dat ain't true, chere," Remy tells her as he lowers himself onto the springy mattress. "Dere was dis one goofy kid, Bobby. He seemed awful concerned."

Rogue scoffs, then meets Remy's eyes. "Ah think he'll live."

Remy frowns. "What'd de kid do?"

"Nothin' ah blame him for," she responds sincerely. "We kinda dated. And he kinda. . .didn't want to anymore."

"He broke up wit' you?" It didn't sound right. This girl wouldn't run off over one relationship gone sour.

"No. No one else was interested in me. He knew that. He stayed with me, but I could tell he didn't want to. He's a nice guy. He tries to do nice things. Still felt pretty mean, though."

"Gambit never has dat problem," Remy smirks. "He ain't nice enough."

Rogue chortles at that.

"Why would no one else be interested?"

"What?"

"Y' said dat Bobby expected no one else t' be interested in y'," Remy recalls. "Lemme tell y', chere, I'm havin' a hard time wit' that. Y' got plenty goin' for you." He gives Rogue a pointed once-over, eyes skimming over her body before meeting her eyes again. He thinks she sees her blush.

"Did they not tell ya what my mutation is when they sent ya?" Rogue asks, averting her gaze. "Or, well, what it _used_ to be."

"My friend told me it was somethin' t' do wit' touch," Remy recollects.

"Yeah," she affirms. "Ah couldn't touch anyone without absorbing their memories, personality, and life force. If they were a mutant, ah'd suck up their powers, too."

This startles Remy a bit. "Whoa."

"Yeah. Whoa."

"But you're Cured now, so what's de problem?"

"What are ya talking about it? There's tons of problems. The institute is a school for _mutants_. Ah'm not technically a mutant anymore."

"So y' ran because y' was Cured?"

"No. Kind of. It's complicated."

He considers this. "Fair 'nough. Dat doesn't change what I was sent for."

"Ah'm not goin' with ya, Gambit."

"Well, I ain't gonna kidnap you, so it seems we got a stalemate."

"Ah'm sorry, but ah—"

" _Excuse_ me."

Remy and Rogue peer up at the source of the new voice.

"Mystique!" Rogue indentifies her. She looms over the pair, arms crossed over her chest.

"I don't seem to recognize your friend here, Rogue," she glares down at Remy.

Remy stands, straightening his sunglasses. "Pleased t'meet you, chere," he plasters on his most charming grin. "Would y' mind a couple more supporters of y' cause?"

She squints at him. Remy senses absolutely no trust coming from her. "You're Cured?"

"I'm Cajun, actually."

Mystique glare hardens, if that's even possible.

"Dat was a joke, chere. S'okay t' laugh, non?"

"Take off the glasses," Mystique requests sternly.

Rogue barely sees it, but she thinks she notices Gambit's jaw clench at the command. He snaps back into charm and easiness so quickly, Rogue's sure she imagined it.

"Why we startin' off our relationship wit' such a personal request?"

"Take them off," she demands more harshly.

Remy runs a hand through his hair, buying himself a few seconds to think. He shakes his head ever so slightly, a message to Laura, warning her, wherever she is, to not take offensive action just yet.

If he takes them off, the leader of this shindig finds out he's a mutant, and his cover's blown. Keeping them on, however, raises enough doubt to assume just as much.

Then again, this isn't the Thieves Guild or something. This is a renegade group of ex-mutants crammed in a room of boxes.

"Y' want to increase y' numbers or not? Gambit's got his reasons for keepin' his eyes covered. Maybe I got sensitive eyes. Or maybe dis Rogue girl is so radiant and beautiful, Gambit's just tryin' to keep from goin' blind."

"You always speak in third person?" Rogue cuts in.

"Gambit doesn't," he replies.

Mystique narrows her eyes at Remy's sunglasses. He meets her gaze levelly, not the she can see it through the shades. He hopes he just _exudes_ confidence.

_Pfft, who am I kidding?_ he thinks. _Of course I do_.

"At the first sign of your jeopardizing our mission, you're _gone_ ," Mystique decides.

Remy salutes her. "Yes, sergeant. Sho can't wait for my retribution and various other Cured-mutant perks."

Mystique rolls her eyes, and then saunters off to wherever she does mastermind thing.

"Why'd ya do that?" Rogue asks when Mystique's out of earshot.

"Y' know I'm here f'  _you_ , Rogue," Remy explains. "I don't wanna take y' against y' will, so it looks I'm stickin' around 'til y' will changes."

 


	7. Unbecoming

There's no denying that Kitty misses Rogue. They had connected with same boy, and that could lead to some cattiness between girls sometimes, but Rogue had never aggressively approached Kitty about Bobby, whatever she felt. She'd taken matters into her own hands instead of ever confronting or blaming Kitty or Bobby about it. And Kitty thought she was really cool.

And now, she wasn't around.

When it'd first come up that she'd split, Kitty hadn't felt a hint of jealousy over Bobby's distress. She was pretty distressed herself. But now, after a few days had come and gone, Bobby's distress was fading. She supposes her distress should fade in time as well. Sure, Rogue was out there facing the world without her power, but if she was happier without it, Kitty could let her be.

She flipped through channels on the TV, trying to find something to catch her interest, get her mind off all the house drama. She pauses on a news show at the sound of the word "mutant." It's always a bad idea to watch a news show where mutants are being discussed. It's always depressing unless it's Beast defending them. Despite the lack of Hank, curiosity gets the better of Kitty.

There's a live telecast happening at the CDC. What Kitty can only describe as a mob surrounds the building, shouting and yelling and crying. A newscaster has to yell over them at the camera, shouting the situation at the viewers.

Kitty rambles in her head, _Oh no this is bad this is like so so so bad._

It takes one scan of the mob, the gaudy colors, outlandish shapes, and occasional colorful displays of power, to decide that the crowd is full of mutants. Angry mutants, by the looks of it.

Kitty catches the end of one of the news lady's sentences just as Kitty reaches the conclusion herself.

_The Cure_ _wears_ _off._

* * *

Gambit has a hard time getting to sleep. Peaceful slumber hasn't really taken to him in a while, so he gets up in the middle of the night, deciding a quick survey of the warehouse is an order. He lifts himself off the bed and pauses to look down at Laura, sound asleep on the bed next to his. He pulls her blanket on more securely over her shoulder, and pats her shoulder twice in case she's still awake. He then dons his trench coat and takes off into the array of boxes the room fosters.

He walks swiftly on the balls of his feet, barely making a sound. It doesn't take him long to realize that some of the boxes are arranged as rooms, something of a maze. He eases his way between them, memorizing routes, until he hears voices.

He edges down two walls of boxes which tower a considerable distance above him. When he reaches the end, the boxes spread to make something of an office, with a desk and a computer. The back wall of the room isn't boxes, but the place where the room's actual wall is located. Mystique leans against it, arms crossed over her chest as she scrutinizes someone who is probably one of the supporters of her cause. Remy recognizes him as the German mutant who'd stood beside Rogue while Mystique was speaking.

"And you're sure it manifested?" Mystique asks him.

"I vas laying in bed, and suddenly, I vas laying on the floor."

"You're quite sure you didn't just fall off the bed?"

"I know what happened," the German deadpans, sounding vaguely offended. "My powers are returning. Finally."

"'Finally?'" Mystique echoes in disbelief. "My powers haven't manifested for several months, and yours return in a mere few weeks?"

"Don't sound so jealous, _mother_ ," the German taunts, though Remy can't fathom why he'd use 'mother' as a jeer. Maybe it's a cultural thing, he decides. "It's unbecoming."

Remy decides to cut in at this point. "Can Gambit see if he's got dis straight?" he steps out from the shadowy hall of boxes. The German turns in surprise, and Mystique looks notably disheartened at the unwelcome presence. "So, you're a fraud, right? You're roundin' up people who got de Cure, makin' 'em all feel slighted and cheated, when de Cure don't even work?"

"Don't talk to me like that, Gambit. I am not a fraud," Mystique retorts. "These people don't _feel_ slighted. They _are_."

"For being Cured? Accordin' to m' sources, dat don' even work none."

"It does for a while," Mystique says, sounding absolutely agonized at explaining herself to the man. "The humans _did_ push this Cure on us like we were a plague. But we weren't. And when our powers manifest again, we can let them know that."

"So dat's you're play?" Gambit shakes his head. "Gather up a stagnant army, wait for dem to recharge, and den set dem loose on everyone you're holdin' a grudge against?"

Defensively, Mystique replies, "Yes, essentially."

"For the record, I'm with the new guy on this," the German cuts in.

"Nightcrawler. . ." Mystique's voice drips with warning.

"This is no surprise to you," Nightcrawler holds his ground. "I came to you for information about my family. You said you'd give it to me if I took the Cure, assuring me it would wear off, and I did. You made good on your word and I made good on mine, but now I no longer need to be here."

"You're up here stompin' on everyt'ing the Cure stand for, and y're makin' people take it?" Remy frowns.

"A necessary evil," Mystique explains, "so I could examine the effects of the Cure from start to finish on another subject."

"I'm not your subject. I'm your son," Nightcrawler reveals. "The Cure's wearing off. I can go now."

Remy get stuck on the son thing. Those numbers aren't adding up in his head. He's about to say so when someone cuts in.

"The Cure wears off?" A small voice asks from behind him.

Mystique's bravado vanishes in an instant.

Rogue clearly hadn't been listening the whole time.


End file.
